Hating April
by LondonBelow
Summary: Mark had always hated April, and always would.


**Disclaimer: I don't own RENT, RHPS, SATs… I own nothing.**

Mark hated April. He always had: that was simply the way of it. April meant winter hibernating. In March, a few final days of rain always visited to say their last goodbyes, a few final days spent cocooned in bed with hot chocolate and a good book. By April the rain was gone, the flowers casting spores into the air, and every time Mark left the house his mother pressed his inhaler into his hand. Allergy pills accompanied every bedtime.

"Are you kidding?" Roger asked incredulously through a mouthful of peanut butter as Mark confessed this hatred. "I love spring!"

"Yeah, well…" Not everyone tracked grass-and-mud footprints into the house, left cleats in the front hall, had more jerseys than socks. Not everyone camped in the back yard; not everyone considered robin's eggs a decent breakfast. Some people were not built for baseball, as the boys had learned during the April that took Mark away in an ambulance. He had a fractured tibia and an asthma attack.

"I hate April, I hate April," Mark wailed three years later, sobbing, twisting around the room in confusion.

"Hey… Mark… shh, it's okay…" Roger grabbed Mark's sleeve and pulled him in like a caught fish, save that Roger had never before sat on his bed with a caught fish sobbing in his arms as he did in the April that took Mark's grandfather after a long battle with lung cancer.

When they reached high school the boys fought most in April, because Roger wanted as he always did to play and talk and smoke, but Mark was busy studying for his AP tests, the same tests Roger would take and pass in the next month.

By far the worst April was that of junior year, the April that took Roger away. That April, Roger took his SAT, and when he received his score, he told Mark, "I wish people wouldn't make a big deal out of this. I'm sick of all the meetings and phone calls."

Mark offered a sympathetic smile. He had yet to take the test, but was studying constantly for it. He knew Roger had not studied. Roger had, in fact, stayed up the night before his test to sneak out for a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. So his poor score came as no surprise to Mark, who would tease only the slightest bit. "What was your score?" he asked.

"Um, a fifteen something. Forty, maybe."

"A fifteen-forty?" Mark asked. "A _fifteen-forty_? But… but you didn't study! How did you… how… it's not fair! Why do you get the perfect score? You don't deserve it!" For once, for once something was supposed to favor Mark. For once, Roger's carelessness, his refusal to study was supposed to blow up in his face. Mark had endured the high grades, the numerous passing marks for AP tests, but the SAT was expected to equalize them. For once, Roger's admittedly graceful turns of phrase were not going to save him. For once, Mark's studying was going to pay off, pull him out of Roger's shadow.

"I don't want it!" Roger protested.

"And yet… G-d, I can't believe this! You're complaining? You can go to any college you want--"

"Yeah, but I just wanna play--"

"Your guitar," Mark finished. "Yeah, I know, play your guitar, but Roger, this is huge! How can you even think about music when you have every academic opportunity? What's wrong with you?"

"I have principles, that's what! And I thought you did too!"

"Principles, yeah, but… this is something really important. Something that matters."

They hadn't spoken for over a week when Mark received a tearful telephone call from Mrs. Davis, asking if Mark had seen Roger. "He's run away," she explained. "He left a note… he's gone to join a rock band. Why would he do it?" For a quarter hour, Mark listened to the woman sob that her son had always been a good boy, he and his father didn't get along but he loved her, and she knew that boys needed to be boys but where had he gone? Was he safe? Was he sleeping on the streets?

Mrs. Davis then promptly apologized and ended the call. Mark saw her at the market the next week, but he lowered his black eyes to avoid her gaze. He was a lonely target now that April had taken Roger away. Mark hated April and always had, but none of that mattered. April had won.

Fin!


End file.
